Title: He Does What’s Necessary
Rating: PG (for action/danger)
Summary: Alternate ending to “Still/The Neva Flows Reprise” in which Dmitry returns for a proper farewell–only to see Gleb threatening Anya.
Notes:

This was written after I realized just how much I wanted a confrontation between Dmitry and Gleb.

I’m not crossposting this just yet–waiting for some feedback on how it is; first time writing for this fandom, so feedback would be appreciated!

Dmitry’s
plan had, originally, been to leave without any goodbyes or fanfare—it would be
the most painless way, he decided, for he knew that if he tried to go back, to
say goodbye to her…  He might not end up
going through with it.

And
he had to go through with it—she was where she belonged now.  And as for him, well…  He would continue living his life as a clever
Russian rat.  He could grift his way
through France and the rest of Europe, if he so desired.

But
it was after he had left that he relented—realizing that he owed her a goodbye,
as painful as it would be.  And, anyway,
he would be able to make sure that she was happy—it would be worth seeing that.

And
so, he made his way back, sneaking past guards to try to find her.  He passed Vlad addressing a roomful of
reporters—Vlad had certainly found himself exactly where he wanted to be, and
Dmitry couldn’t help but feel happy for his old friend.  Maybe someday, he would find that happiness,
too…

He
pulled himself out of his wistful dreaming and got back on track; Anya had to
be around here somewhere…  Ah, there,
behind those glass doors!

Dmitry
hurried over, and then stopped cold; she wasn’t alone in that room.  A man was there; Dmitry recognized him as
that Bolshevik officer—Gleb was his name, wasn’t it?  How had he managed to track them down in
Paris!?  But Dmitry was less concerned
with who he was or how he had got here, and more concerned with the fact that
he had a gun drawn on Anya, who was staring back at him, defiantly.

Dmitry
had no weapon; all he had were his wits and the element of surprise—but those
were two things that had gotten him this far.

He
aimed a kick at the locked door, forcing it open; as he hoped, Gleb turned his
attention to him, and Anya gasped.

And
then everything happened all at once.

Dmitry
had expected Gleb would be trigger-happy, and he was right; Dmitry was already
letting himself fall to the ground even as Gleb fired.  This quick thinking saved his life, though it
didn’t stop him from being hit; the bullet grazed his arm, and he forced
himself not to react to the pain as he hit the ground.  And somewhere, amidst all of this, Anya
screamed.

“No!  Dmitry!”

She
was beside him in an instant, and then turned to glare at Gleb.

“What
have you done!?”

“He…  He startled me…” Gleb insisted.  He sounded less harsh now—if anything, he
seemed to be trying to defend himself to the same woman he had been ready to
kill only moments ago.

“…You
really don’t care about the lives of innocents,” she realized.  “You really believe that my brother and
sisters deserved to die—and that I should have died with them!  We were children,
Gleb!  We didn’t know anything!  All we knew was that our world was ending,
and we didn’t know why!  I lost them all
that night…”  Her voice broke.  “And now, Dmitry…  You shot him for no reason…!”

Dmitry
had to force himself to stay silent as she drew her arms around him; if he was
going to stop Gleb, he needed to keep the element of surprise, in spite of the
pain she would be feeling.

“Do
you want to end the line of the Romanovs, Gleb?” she continued.  “Then finish it.  I am
the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov!”

Gleb
sighed heavily and walked over to them, the gun drawn again—but he hesitated,
and Dmitry seized the chance.

He
used his uninjured arm to help launch himself from the ground; Anya gasped as
he broke through her embrace.  As he
rose, he elbowed Gleb in the gut, and followed with a strike to his wrist,
trying to get him to drop the gun.  He
dodged as Gleb tried to knee him in the gut next, but he let go of Gleb’s wrist
in the process; before Gleb could aim again, he punched him squarely on the
jaw.

The
gun clattered to the floor as Gleb finally let go of it, and all three of them
went for it.  But Gleb reached it first,
and Dmitry immediately now withdrew, standing in front of Anya to protect her.

“Dmitry,
run…” she whispered, trying to get in front of him as Gleb held the gun on them
again.

“No,”
Dmitry replied, refusing to let her get in front.

“Dmitry,
I order you–”

“After
what I went through with your grandmother, you don’t scare me,” he said; he’d
have probably smirked if the situation hadn’t been so serious.

Anya
realized that arguing was futile; she merely seized Dmitry’s hand instead as
Gleb drew closer.

“You
realize I have valid reasons to kill the both of you?” he asked.  “I have my orders to kill Anastasia.  And as for him…  He attacked an officer!”

They
didn’t say a word in their defense.  Anya
once again tried to stand in front of Dmitry, but couldn’t; she did, however,
draw to his side.  They still held on to
each other’s hands, standing side-by-side, glaring back at Gleb in defiance.

Gleb
moved the gun from one to the other, and back again; he was clearly hesitating
again, but neither Anya nor Dmitry broke their glare.

After
what seemed like an age, Gleb finally lowered the gun.

“…I
can’t…” he muttered, in a defeated tone.

He
turned the gun around and held it out, handle-first; Dmitry shook his head, and
Anya’s expression softened.

“Neither
could we,” she said.

Gleb
gave a nod and turned to go.

“Farewell,
Comrades,” he said, before departing.

Anya
and Dmitry both held their breath until he had gone, and then finally sighed in
relief.

“You
took a risky chance,” Dmitry chided, running a hand through his light brown
hair.

“So
did you; I thought you were…,” she trailed off, unable to finish the
thought.  She glanced at his arm.  “You’re bleeding…”

“It
looks worse than it is,” Dmitry insisted, but before he could stop her, she had
torn the hem of her dress—that beautiful, regal dress!  Dmitry was stricken temporarily speechless as
she used the cloth as a makeshift tourniquet.
Finally, his voice returned.
“…Thank you.”

“Thank
you, too,” she said.  She didn’t
elaborate, nor did she need to.

Dmitry
nodded.

“Well,
as long as you’re alright…” he said, and he turned to go.

“Wait,”
she said, grabbing his uninjured arm.

“Don’t
drag this out any longer,” Dmitry pleaded.
“Just a simple goodbye–”

“It’s
not that simple!” she returned.  “I know you left without collecting the
reward—Nana told me!  …And now I know why
you left.”

Dmitry
turned back to her with a pained expression.

“I
can’t be a part of this world—your world,” he said.  “We both know that.”

“Maybe
this world isn’t for me, either,” she said.
“I’ve been away from it for so long, and…”  She smiled, recalling the conversation she’d
had with her grandmother earlier.  “…Nana
will understand.”

“…Do
you even realize what you’re giving up?” Dmitry asked, stunned.

“Yes,”
she said, and she took his hand again.
“But I also know what I’m getting in return.”

There
was also the unspoken fear that she didn’t want to bring up—that if it was
announced that Anastasia was alive and well, the Bolsheviks would send someone
else to finish what Gleb had been unable to do, and send someone far less
merciful, who would kill her and all who had tried to protect her—Dmitry, Vlad,
Lily, her grandmother…

It
would be safer—for her and everyone she cared about—to live as Anya.

Dmitry
seemed to understand what she was thinking.
Nodding, he extended his hand, which she took.  He leaned in for a kiss, but hesitated,
prompting her to roll her eyes and kiss him, which he returned.

“They’ll
have heard the gunshot; they’ll be coming to check on us,” Anya said, after a
moment.  “We should go.”

Dmitry
nodded, and, hand in hand, they left; as predicted, the others had heard the
shot.  Looking back, Anya and Dmitry saw
a very worried Vlad looking through the window.
They paused long enough for him to notice them and see the worry leave
his face; with what was clearly a sigh of relief, Vlad gave them a quick wave
of farewell.  It would be a bit
embarrassing for him, having promised the reporters that they would meet the
long-lost princess, but if it meant that Anya and Dmitry could be safe and happy,
then it was worth having the egg on his face.

“Take
care, Old Friend,” Dmitry said, quietly.

Anya
squeezed his hand.

“I
know we’ll see them again,” she said.

It
was a bittersweet ending to their adventure, but it was also the promise of a
new beginning—one that they would start together.